


Didn't Plan It

by notmeagain



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Accidental Sugardaddy, Bruce keeps buying Clark stuff and they don't know what they want to do now, Bruce tries to be nice but ends up being a sugardaddy, Clark is a clueless babe, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Sugardaddy Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmeagain/pseuds/notmeagain
Summary: Clark and Bruce are friends until one of them realizes that maybe they were something else too?OrThe accidental Sugardaddy AU.





	Didn't Plan It

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for years
> 
> less than a year but still 7 months
> 
> anyway here ya go

“I don’t remember your place ever looking like this,” Lois said as she entered Clark’s apartment.

“What do you mean?” Clark asked. He looked around going to the kitchen to set the take out on the table. “It’s always looked like this.”

“Um, no, it did not,” Lois snorted. “For starters, the wallpaper is finally fixed, you have a new TV, and is that new stove? I’ve been telling you to get a new one since we met!”

“So, I got some new things,” Clark defended. “You’re always telling me to treat myself sometime.”

Lois stared at him. Judging him. Trying to find out if he was hiding something or if he was just being stupid. He was familiar with that stare since she used to give him that look all the time before the whole Superman reveal. Lois nodded. She figured something out.

“When were you going to tell me you and Bruce are dating?” Lois asked, accusingly.

“What? We’re not dating!” Clark felt his face go red.

Lois looked at him, the apartment, the coat rack, the Chinese food, then back at him. “Okay.”

He was surprised with how easy she accepted that fact. He hoped that maybe she would drop it. His mother was already hounding him about his ‘not so secret’ crush on Batman. He didn’t need his ex-girlfriend in on it too. She started opening containers and Clark hoped that was the end of that.

Lois chose the moment he had stuffed his mouth with Mushu pork to ask, “So, you’re just his sugar baby, then?”

Clark choked.

Lois got him a glass of water and he coughed a few times.

“You alright there, Smallville?” Lois eyed him critically.

“His what?!” Clark asked, maybe a little hysterically.

“You know, you’re his sugar baby and he’s your sugar daddy,” she explained. “He gives you stuff, you receive stuff and in exchange—”

“That’s not—What even--,” Clark stuttered. “We’re just friends!”

“ _ Friends _ ,” she said nodding slowly with a smirk.

“No, just regular friends,” he scolded.

“If you say so,” Lois said not believing him one bit.

“We are!” he insisted.

Lois picked at her dim sum and pointed her chopsticks at Clark’s breast pocket. “Nice pen you got there, Smallville.”

“Thanks,” Clark said reflexively. “Bruce got it for me.”

“Aha!” Lois was all but ready to pounce.

“Damn it,” he cursed. “It’s just a pen, Lois.”

“It’s not just a pen, Smallville.” She smirked. “Take a look around.”

Clark Kent looked at his apartment in a state of shock and disbelief. His apartment did look and function better than ever. For starters, the heat actually worked, his stove wasn’t just extra storage space, and his TV was actually from this century. Beyond that, his clothes weren’t ratty and worn out anymore, although they were still somehow dated and tacky, despite being brand new. He even had a new bike.

He didn’t know who to blame for this development. Batman’s obsessiveness to keep things private even when it directly concerns him or his own obliviousness. He liked one of the options better than the other. 

Looking back he pinpoints the signs he’s missed.

 

* * *

 

 

It started with a scarf.

It was innocent. It didn’t mean anything.

Clark said he was cold that one time and Bruce gave him his scarf. He told him Clark could keep it if he wants. Clark did. Not because he wanted to, but he just never found the opportunity to return it. He didn’t know it was Armani, he also did not know how much Armani could actually cost. He guessed it was expensive, but Jesus Christ.

They were walking to the Daily Planet on a snowy winter day. Bruce Wayne agreed to be interviewed by Lois Lane regarding his latest business dealings and they just happen to bump into one another.

“You’re wearing a light coat, no scarf, and no gloves,” Bruce observed. “Aren’t you cold?”

Bruce was wearing an expensive looking black trench coat, a long gray scarf, his gloved hands were hidden in his pockets as they briskly walked to the office. Clark didn’t need to use his x-ray vision to know that under that was a criminally expensive and well-tailored suit.

“I don’t get cold,” Clark reminded him, smiling.

“Aren’t you supposed to?” Bruce quipped back.

He had a good point. Leave it to Batman to point out what should be the obvious.

“Here, take mine.” Bruce unraveled the gray scarf from his neck and draped it over Clark’s shoulder.

“I can’t take this.” He started to give it back.

“Yes, you can.” Bruce looked at him appraisingly. “It looks great with the outfit.”

“Your jokes need work.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“ _ Bruce _ .”

“ _ Clark _ .” Bruce rolled his eyes. “It’s just a scarf.”

Clark was about to say something again when Bruce fixed him with a look.

“Thank you,” Clark mumbled to stop himself from saying something stupid like  _ I like it, it smells like you _ .

They enter the Planet building and go their separate ways. Clark smells like Bruce’s cologne for the rest of the day.

It should have ended at that. But Bruce, because he was an asshole, decided to give Clark a scarf of his own because apparently his scarves were ‘ _ god awful to look at and those ties, goodness’ _ . Again, he knew it was expensive, he did not know this one was Burberry. It was plaid for Heaven’s sake. Expensive things weren’t meant to be plaid.

Bruce left it in his apartment in an unassuming box at the foot of his bed. It had a little note attached to it that simply read;  _ You’re welcome _ .

After receiving the package, he just texted Bruce the usual.

> | C:  S _ top sneaking into my apartment. >:( _
> 
> | B:  _ No. _
> 
> | C:  _ :(  _
> 
> | C:  _ pls? _
> 
> | B:  _ Maybe. _

It escalated with furniture.

They were practical and impersonal.

They weren’t supposed to mean anything other than Bruce expressing himself in a weird and detached sort of way--like the time Bruce tracked an antique World War I picture of Diana instead of just asking her about it--- because he’s Batman and can’t express friendly feelings like a normal person. It’s not even that Clark can’t afford to buy himself these sort of things. He just doesn’t like buying things that aren’t necessary and most of his money goes to his mother for the farm, she doesn’t really need it but he wanted to help anyway.

His apartment wasn’t that bad, although, one time when Dick stopped by he told him it was just a  _ ‘clusterfuck’ _ . Which was saying something since the kid grew up in a circus.

“You live like this?” Bruce asked once, in the very few instances that he came to the apartment.

“That was rude even for you,” Clark said. “What would Alfred think?”

“Sorry.” Bruce looked a bit chastised. “But I’m pretty sure that’s mold.”

Clark sighed. “It is.”

“Call your super.”

“It’s no use. The person who owns this building is really bad at-.” Clark looks around his apartment. “Well, he’s bad at everything. But what are you going to do, you know?”

Bruce made a speculative sound. Clark was about to comment on it when Bruce moved his continuing critique of the apartment to the kitchen.

Clark followed him, stopping at the entryway. He watched as Bruce fiddled with the appliances. Bruce turned his attention to the old stove and made the mistake of pulling the oven door open, breaking it off its hinges. The burner on the stove suddenly ignited too,  because it did that sometimes.

“Um.”

“ _ Bruce _ .”

“I accidentally broke your stove.”

“I can see that.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“Do not say one word.”

Bruce tried again.

“Not one,” Clark said sternly.

Bruce bit his lip.

They looked at each other in a sort of shocked silence. Then Clark couldn’t keep a straight face anymore and broke out into laughter. Bruce joined in a beat later. They were giggling like a bunch of teenagers.

“I’ll pay for it.” Bruce said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m going to anyway.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Hn.”

Clark smiled thinking he’s won this time, at least. 

He did not. 

One day after being out on an intergalactic mission he came back and his place looked different. He didn’t have the energy to think about it before he crashed in his bed and slept for a solid day. He would have questioned Bruce about his magically appearing furniture, but then the League was called in to deal with another intergalactic disaster. Then he was behind on an article which prompted Perry to punish him by making him write sports columns. After that, Luthor decided to be extra dickish and try to kill him again in brand new creative ways. He got so busy he never gave the new furniture, mold-less wallpaper, and improved water pressure any thought. He didn’t even notice that the building was under new management until a month after and only because the nice old lady he helps up the stairs mentioned it to him.

 

* * *

 

 

It continued on with a bike.

The next time Clark saw Bruce, after the whole apartment renovation thing, was in front of the Daily Planet.

“You ride that thing to work, Kent?”

Clark fumbled with his bike lock. He turned around to see Bruce approaching him with his hands in his pockets, jauntily walking towards him, he was even whistling. 

_ God, is Brucie Wayne a trip _ , Clark thinks a little fondly.

“Bruce,” Clark greeted with a smile. He was surprised to see him at the Daily Planet, although it made some sense since Wayne Enterprises purchased his workplace. He liked the idea of seeing Bruce more often outside their crime fighting activities. Although, Bruce being technically his boss made something in Clark’s gut squirm.

“That’s a street hazard.” Bruce pointed to the bike.

“It’s vintage,” he defended.

“A coat can be vintage. Maybe even a car,” Bruce scoffed. “A bike cannot.”

“It’s fine. And it’s not like I can fly to work every day.”

“Yeah, it’s not like you’re Superman or anything.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who told me not to use power all willy-nilly.”

“I’m a billionaire, Clark. Everything I say or do is rich.” He smirked. “And really?  _ Willy-nilly? _ ”

Clark bumped Bruce’s gently on his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Ow,” Bruce said deadpan. Clark ignored it.

“What are you even doing here?” Clark started walking to the building. Bruce followed. “Aside from criticizing my chosen mode of transportation.”

Bruce gave a shrug. “I own the place. I like to visit sometimes.”

Clark chuckled.

Bruce spent half the day terrorizing the journalists at the Planet to get more insight in whatever it is Brucie decided to get fixated on this month as part of his eccentric billionaire cover or just for his own sick amusement. Clark’s leaning on both. Bruce is complicated like that.

“Mr. Kent!” Bruce’s public persona was layered on thick. “Working hard or hardly working?”

Clark made himself look appropriately startled.

“Don’t answer that. Wouldn’t want to get my fourth favorite reporter in trouble.”

“Fourth?”

“Still in my top five,” Bruce grinned. “That’s still something.”

“Er, sure.”

“I’ll get going now, Kent. Say hi to Johnny for me.”

“You mean Jimmy?”

“Yeah, sure. That guy.”

Bruce left Clark in a state of confusion as he always does when he goes full force on his public persona.

“What was that about?” Lois asked looking at direction Bruce left to.

“No idea,” he answered honestly.

A few days later Clark was coming out late from the Daily Planet. Late enough that the only bike on the rack was his. But it wasn’t his bike.

His first thought was who the hell would steal his shitty bike? Then, he noticed that the lock on the bike was definitely his. It was a Superman bike lock, because Lois thought it’d be hilarious. It was.

Clark looked the bike over and realized it was a new model from one of the Wayne Enterprises sub-divisions. He didn’t know how to feel about this. Well, not exactly. He knows he feels happy. He’s just not sure if it’s because of the new bike or because it’s from Bruce. 

Either way Clark had a pleasant ride back to his apartment on a bike that wasn’t held together by duct tape and sheer force of will.

The bike was never brought up because right after Clark got it Bruce disappeared into god knows where and when he resurfaced again it was too awkward to thank him for it. So, he never did. His mother would be so disappointed.

He didn’t expect the next step was for a new wardrobe.

“Kent!” Perry yelled form across the bullpen.

“Yeah, Chief?” Clark asked peeking over from his cubicle.

“Get your ass over here!” The door to Perry’s office slammed closed.

“What are you waiting for, Smallville? Go!” Lois ordered from over his cubicle corner.

Clark headed over to Perry’s office and knocked softly then entered.

“You have to interview Bruce Wayne,” Perry said.

“Why me?”

“Because you passed that article about the latest Metropolis away game late.”

“I didn’t pass any articles about the Metropolis away game.”

Perry gave him a look. “Exactly.”

Clark’s eyes went wide and he flushed embarrassed. He didn’t mean to forget all about it, but now that Perry was giving him his ‘feed you to the wolves’ glare suddenly, it all came flooding back.

“Er, but I gave you that article about LexCorps’ corporation espionage.”

“Yes, good job,” Perry conceded. “But still.”

Clark sighed in defeat. “When’s the interview?”

“Right now.”

“What?!” He spluttered.

“He’s at his tailor and is expecting you ten minutes from now.”

“What’s the interview even about?”

“It’s the let them eat cake beat, Kent. Don’t you keep up with the news?”

Of course, Clark does he’s a journalist also he’s practically on the news all the time.

“What are you waiting for?” Perry pointed to the door. “Go!”

“Right away, Chief!” Clark awkwardly left the office bumping into as many things as possible.

He told Lois where he was going to which she gave a delighted “Better you than me.”

Clark arrived at the place where Bruce was currently being measured for a suit.

“Mr Kent!” Bruce exclaimed when he saw his face in the mirror. “Right on time.”

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Clark asked shyly. This place made him feel more out of place than usual. It’s weird knowing that the only thing he could afford in this place was the cheapest pocket square.

“We were just finishing up,” Bruce said. “Right, Matteo?”

“Yes, sir,” the gentleman currently measuring Bruce’s shoulders said.

“It’ll just be a moment,” Bruce said turning back to the tailor.

Clark waited awkwardly to the side shifting from one foot to the other. Bruce was speaking to Matteo in Italian and Clark let his eyes wander.

He let it wander so far that he didn’t even notice Bruce coming up to him and talking straight to his ear.

“Gah!” Clark jerked forward.

“I didn’t know Perry would be sending you.” Bruce was already roaming the shop, Clark quickly at his heels.

“I didn’t know either.” Clark scratched the back of his neck.

“Get on Perry’s bad side again, did you?”

“May have forgotten to submit an article.”

“On time?”

“At all.”

Bruce snickered.

Clark smiled. It was strange how people said Batman never smiled, but every time they were together, if you looked hard enough, he smiled all the time. Especially, when he’s with his kids.

“It’s a miracle you’re not fired yet.”

“Hey!” Clark defended. “I’m good at my job. An invaluable member of the team.”

“You’re good at a lot of things.” Bruce eyed him critically.

Clark swallowed. He didn’t know why, but every time Bruce looked at him it felt like he was on a spotlight. All that focus and attention concentrated on him. He didn’t want to think about how much he liked it.

“Dressing is definitely not one of them,” Bruce continued.

Clark looked down. He was wearing a plaid dress shirt with pink and blue shades. It was in style probably back in the 70’s.

“It’s vintage?”

“Stop calling every old thing you own vintage.”

“It’s retro.”

“Stop.”

Bruce was going through a rack of button-up shirts. He took one out and held it against Clark’s chest.

“This looks good.”

“Also, expen—” Before Clark could finish his sentence Bruce pushed another shirt on him.

“This one matches your eyes.” Bruce moved onto another rack.

“Ah, thanks.” Clark blushed. “I really can’t—”

Brush thrust four more shirts at him all varying designs.

“Try them on,” Bruce ordered.

“What?” Clark asked a bit panicked. “I can’t—”

“Take your pants off.”

Clark choked.

Bruce rolled his eyes like  _ he’s _ not the one being dramatic and unreasonable.

“You need pants to go with these shirts,” Bruce said logically.

“What’s wrong with my pants?” Clark was a little indignant.

“They don’t fit you for one thing. And also, your pants are equally as horrible.” Bruce tsked and moved on to the folded pants on a table.

“It’s part of my disguise,” Clark argued quietly.

“Your pants are being held up by a belt, Clark. At least wear something that doesn’t need that much help.”

Bruce went to the pants area of the shop.

“Weren’t we supposed to be doing an interview?” Clark tried to get things back on track.

“Talk and shop, Kent. Multi-task.” Bruce picked up a couple of pants and added them to the array of clothes Clark was already holding.

Bruce looked at him dead in the eyes and said, “Try them on.”

Clark’s brain wanted to argue, but his mouth just wanted to hang open because why not. Bruce made a  _ get going  _ motion with his hand and did what he was told.

In the dressing room Clark tried on the clothes, pointedly not looking at the price tags. He asked some questions while he was in there and Bruce answered in the inanest way as possible. He got most of the questions done by the time he finished dressing and undressing.

Clark looked at himself in the mirror and he could admit it made him look better.

He stepped out of the dressing room to show Bruce because--he wasn’t sure exactly, but it felt like it was something he should do.

As soon as he stepped out Bruce threw a sports jacket at him.

“Try that one on,” Bruce said from the couch.

Clark didn’t understand why there was a couch in the dressing room. He put the coat on and turned to face Bruce.

Bruce looked at him, taking in his outfit. Clark felt fidgety just standing waiting for Bruce to—what did he want Bruce to do? Approve of him? Laugh at the ridiculousness of all this? Okay, probably not laugh at him. He couldn’t handle that. But maybe say something rather than just looking at him. Clark was about to say something painfully awkward, but was saved when a salesperson suddenly popped in.

“Everything alright here gentlemen?” she asked cheerily.

Bruce nodded and gave her a smile. “Yes, everything’s great. He looks wonderful, doesn’t he?”

Clark’s heart did a neat little trick where it stops and then decides to beat faster than ever.

“Yes, he does.” She nodded in agreement.

Clark was red in the face. He wanted to say something but was currently tongue tied.

Suddenly, Bruce’s phone rang so held up a hand and exited the dressing room. The salesperson followed him out leaving Clark flushed and confused.

Clark put his own clothes back on and went to look for Bruce. He found him talking to someone in Mandarin at the tie section. There were so many ties.

Bruce ended the call and sighed.

“What was that?”

“I have been informed that my people are being poached.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are they going to leave?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“But you still have to find out who’s doing it.”

“Exactly.” Bruce tucked the phone in his pocket. “I guess that ends our interview. Keep the last parts off the record.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

“I know.” Bruce smirked. “But I have to be careful with journalists. No offense.”

“None taken.” Clark smiled.

Bruce left abruptly after that leaving Clark in the shop. Clark was about to leave too when he was stopped by the salesperson.

“Sir, your purchases!” she said running up to him with shopping bags.

“Uh, I didn’t buy anything?”

“Your companion already paid for the clothes.” She smiled at him brightly.

She handed him the bags and he walked straight home dazed and confused. It occurred to him later that he probably should have gone back to work.

The next day he wore one of the new shirts Bruce bought him, it was soft and already infinitely more comfortable than the scratchy old ones he owned. He realized belatedly that none of the things he tried on in the shop were in the shopping bags. Everything Bruce bought him were mismatched and just on this side of hard to pull off. Sure, if he had the Brucie Wayne type of charisma he could make the off-colored shirts work with the boring pants but Clark Kent doesn’t have that effect on people.

Lois immediately noticed Clark’s new clothes.

“You are just hopeless aren’t you, Smallville?” she told him with a fond smile.

“What do you mean?” Clark peered up at her from his glasses.

“New clothes does not mean new style,” she said.

“How’d you know these are new?”

“Oh, spare me.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen the contents of your closet.”

Clark blushed and Lois flicked his collar.

“It’s nice to see you taking my advice and actually treating yourself for once.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It was actually Bruce’s idea.”

“And you listened to him?”

“Not listened. More I didn’t see it coming?”

“Wait.” She held her hand up. “So, he got this for you?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean he just sprung it on me.”

Lois nodded with a small smile on her face. “Okay.”

Suddenly Lois was called off into Perry’s office and he never really got to ask what she meant by that. 

Now he does.

A new apartment, a new bike, and a new wardrobe later and Clark and Bruce still have not talked about any of the things. Except for the scarf, if texting Bruce to stop breaking and entering counted as talking. 

“Clark.” Lois was waving her hand at his face. “Smallville, are you there?”

“What?” Clark blinked back to reality.

“You kinda stared out into space a bit,” she explained.

“I was just having a series of flashbacks,” he said.

“I figured.”

Clark looked down to see Lois has polished off most of the food.

“Hey!”

“I got hungry while you were having your flashbacks,” she defended. “What happened back there anyway?”

“Uh…”

Lois’ face lit up like a kid on Christmas day. “I knew it!”

“Hold your horses,” Clark chided. “For us to be--- _ that.  _ We’d have to be sleeping together.”

“You’re really making him work for it, huh.”

Clark decided to stuff his face with the  remaining food instead of arguing. Lois was cackling all the while at how red Clark’s face was.

Before Lois left for the night she told Clark sternly,  “Seriously. You need to talk to him.”

“I will.” He nodded. “Soon.”

“Not soon.” She jabbed at his chest. “Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He watched the door close and he was alone in an apartment that made him think of Bruce, in clothes that Bruce picked out, and Lois was right he should probably bite the bullet and go talk to Bruce. It was a good thing bullets can’t do anything to him.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late enough that when he flew into to Bruce’s bedroom at the Manor via the open balcony doors Bruce was already home from patrol. Surprisingly, Bruce was fast asleep on his gigantic bed in his giant room. It was a rare sight to see him actually resting, usually the man was always on the move. He felt a little guilty waking him up, so he just stood there a bit, watching the rise and fall of Bruce’s naked chest.

Bruce turned in to his side and cracked an eye open looking directly at Clark.

“What?” Bruce asked voice still sleepy and not the least bit surprised to find him in his bedroom.

He kind of felt awkward now just standing there watching Bruce sleep.

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Clark asked as innocently as he possibly could. Forethought revealed that it was probably not the right way of approaching things.

“Your--” Bruce started to say then stopped.

Clark sat on the edge of the bed and waited a beat until Bruce made a very put-upon sigh. He got into a sitting position, the sheets pooled at his hips, he rubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” he said, not feeling very helpful. “So…”

“To be clear, I certainly don’t get off on buying you things.” Bruce grunted. “I didn’t even know I was doing it. It’s a reflex.”

“If it makes you feel better I didn’t know you were doing it either,” he comforted. “Until recently anyway.”

“That does not make me feel better.” Bruce looked at him.

“Oh. Well, I tried.” He shrugged.

Bruce leaned on the headboard and looked at Clark with sleepy eyes and bed mussed hair. Instead of examining how looking at Burce like that made his throat dry and how his eyes kept wandering down his throat, over his shoulders, his chest, and abs. Clarks eyes snapped up, cheeks burning.

“Wait. What do you mean you didn’t notice?” Clark said a little hysterical. “How could you not notice buying an apartment building? A new stove? A TV? A bike? New clothes?”

Bruce grunted again.

He looked at him expectantly because he needed more tonight than just Bruce grunting.

_ Horrible choice of words, Kent, _ Clark thought.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and Clark forced his eyes not to wander. It’s not like he’s never seen Bruce half naked before. It’s just. The context of the situation is really getting to him.

“Wayne Estates was buying different real estate properties,” Bruce explained in a bored voice. “So, I just sneaked yours in because you’ve been complaining about your building ever since I met you.”

“I do not complain,” Clark said.

“Yes, you do,” Bruce continued. “The stove I actually did break and the TV, my hand slipped and I accidentally chucked the remote at it. I was surprised you didn’t notice. I thought you were mad about that actually.”

“I didn’t notice it until like a week later when I realized I didn’t have cable before,” he confessed. “Why did you also get me cable?”

“Because I thought you were mad about the television.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “How about the bike and the clothes?”

Bruce smirked.  “Oh, those, I have no excuse for other than being a good person.”

“Okay.”

“I’m a very charitable person, Clark.”

“Oh sure.”

“Wait.” Bruce pinned him with a look. “You mean to say you only realized that I got you all those things, just now?”

“Ah.” Clark looked away. He rubbed the back of his neck suddenly feeling sheepish. “Not necessarily. I mean I noticed them when you got them for me sure.”

“My feelings are hurt.”

“Thank you for the wonderful gifts, Bruce.”

“I was beginning to think you didn’t appreciate them,” Bruce said in a tone so dry he could be nothing, but joking.

Clark chuckled a little bit.

“What made you think about the whole sugar daddy thing?”

“Lois.”

“And you came out here to do what exactly?” Bruce peered up at him confused.

“Um.” When he thought his face couldn’t possibly get any more flushed Bruce goes out and says that. “I know. I even told Lois that we do not have that type of relationship.”

“What did she say?”

“That I was playing hard to get.”

Bruce snorted. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“How would you put it?”  _ He was all about poorly phrased words today wasn’t he? _

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t put anything anywhere.”

He grabbed a pillow and threw it at Bruce’s smug face. Bruce fell over laughing burying his face into the covers.

“I came here to talk to you,” Clark scolded.

“How’s that working out for you?” Bruce asked peeking at him from where he burrowed in the covers.

“It’s was going great before you started laughing at me.”

“Not at you,” Bruce said. “At the situation.”

“It is ridiculous,” he conceded.

“What do you want from me, Clark?” Bruce looked so relaxed all laying there, the sheet covering his body was low on his hips and---

“Uuuuh….”

Bruce smirked. “Can I be honest with you?”

He cleared his throat. “Sure. Honesty. Very nice. You should do it more often.”

“I think you may be more inclined to the idea than you’d like to admit.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he admitted. He was probably so red right now, he can feel a blush all over his body. “But do you…. Um. I mean--Do you not? Were you just being--”

“I may be considering it now that you’ve brought it up,” Bruce said. “Now, please for the love of god. Let me sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“We can talk about this in the morning,” Bruce grumbled as he turned over and over and over in his bed rolling into a sleep burrito.

Clark watched fighting a smile as Bruce burrowed into the covers. 

“In the morning then.”

Clark didn’t know what came over him but suddenly he found himself shucking his pants and taking off his shoes to join Bruce under the covers.

“Just trying to play the part,  _ daddy _ ,” Clark answered Bruce confusion, smiling cheekily.

"Don't do that right now or I might pull out the Kyrptonite on you,” Bruce said in a low low voice.

Clark snuggled closer to Bruce burying his face in the other’s shoulder. “Shh. Threaten me with violence in the morning, darling.”

"Oh, we' are going to have a talk about this tomorrow."

A pleasant shiver ran down Clark's spine and he decided to snuggle closer. "Tomorrow."

**Author's Note:**

> And then the next morning they have sex and a decadent breakfast in Paris then sex again.


End file.
